


All This Destiny Bullshit

by nightchandac



Series: Amatus, pls [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:09:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7229401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightchandac/pseuds/nightchandac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicos has a hard time dealing with what was revealed in the Fade and the way he deals with his problems--running away and never ever talking about them--worries Dorian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nicos had been quiet since returning from Adamant.  It wasn’t entirely uncharacteristic, given the current company, but he was always one to make a snide remark when he could, just to throw Cullen off.  Now, though, Dorian counted at least three missed opportunities.  As the conversation died down, Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra rose together, their chairs screeching against the stone floor.  Dorian watched as Nicos winced at the sound, shifting in his seat to hide his flinch.

From his table at the other side of the tavern, Dorian felt a small booted foot kick his shin under the table.  "Oi, magic man!  You in or not?” Sera shouted at him.

Distractedly, he waved a hand to dismiss her.

“Oh, whatever.  I’m still taking your coin, though.”

Suddenly Nicos was out of his seat, sprinting out the door, startled cries echoing after him.  Dorian started to stand to go after him when he felt Bull’s big hand rest on his forearm. 

“Let him go.  He just needs some space.”

Dorian whipped around to face him, managing to arrange his face in a look of impressed incredulity.   “That’s quite a talent you have, Bull.  Reading minds?”

“Adamant took its toll on all of us and he hasn’t had a minute to himself since he got back.  Give the boss a break,” Bull replied in stride. 

Everyone was being too serious tonight.  Everyone but Sera, it seemed, who held a small pile of coins in her hands, giggling like a child.

Without dismissing himself, Dorian stood and made his way out into the chill night air.  A small voice sounded behind him and he turned to see a young woman sitting against the wall of the tavern.  “I’m sorry?  He went where?”

“The Inquisitor ran off to the front gate.  Never saw anyone run so fast in my life.  He okay?” she asked, her words a little slurred.

“Oh, he’s perfectly fine.  He’s just got too much energy, is all,” Dorian answered, hoping the reason was enough to quell suspicions.  It wouldn’t do to have his followers think he was running away. 

 

* * *

 

The brutal cold wind whipped and bit at Nicos’s bare chest as he stood perilously close to the edge of the bridge.  He was shivering violently, but he didn’t put his top back on, allowing the pain of the cold to root him to reality.  The fierce winds battered him and he stumbled, watching the sheer drop of the cliff below him grow closer.  He didn’t fight the panic.

“I hope you’re not thinking about jumping.”

Nicos straightened at the familiar voice and shook his head.  “Not tonight, anyway.”

Dorian moved slowly so as not to startle him and wrapped warm arms around his waist, pressing his chest against his back and rested his chin on Nicos’s shoulder.  “Just practicing your heroic pose for your statue, then?”

Nicos continued to stare down at the snow-covered rock below and he sighed.  “I just…I needed to…” he grumbled in frustration as he fought to find the right words.  “I can’t explain it in a way that would make me sound…sane.”

“Ah!” Dorian exclaimed.  “You’ve gone mad, is that it?  Happens to the best of us.  Well, not _me_ , naturally, but you know.”  He tilted his head to nip behind Nicos’s ear.  “As much as I’m enjoying this vision, would you please put your shirt back on?  Hypothermia and frostbite are generally big turn-offs for me.”

Nicos let out a long breath in what he had meant to be laughter, but he’d lost it somewhere along the way.  “Since you asked so nicely, I suppose.” 

Once he was fully clothed again, Dorian took his hands in his at looked at him seriously.  “Will you please talk to me?” he asked, his voice edging near begging.

Nicos’s face darkened and he stubbornly looked away.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Amatus…”

Nicos could tell that the heavy silence was meant to have more words, but Dorian couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to say.  “I…I just want to be alone right now…”  He pulled his hands from Dorian’s grip and with one quick peck on the mage’s cheek, he ran off again. 

He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew he needed to _go_.  He needed to feel the burn in his muscles and the all-too-familiar stitch in his side from over-exertion.  He needed to wheeze and rasp and feel sick.  He needed to feel something other than the heavy weight of truth sitting on his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> self-harm tw applies here

He’d lost count of how many steps he’d climbed, how many turns around sharp corners, how many random ladders…  His tired legs began to buckle beneath him, but he kept going.  One more ladder, one more stairwell, just keep going, keep going, _keep going_.  He finally stopped and found himself at an unoccupied turret and leaned against the high stone wall, heaving for breath.  When he looked up, he noticed he wasn’t too far from the tower that housed his quarters.  Suddenly the thought of it made his stomach roll and he spat on the ground, still trying to catch his breath.

Slowly, he tucked himself into a corner and curled up, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his forehead on them.  Finally sure he was entirely alone with no sign of being disturbed in the near future, he let go of the faltering control over his feelings and sobbed.  Every emotion was racing to catch up with him and he couldn’t fight them back anymore.  He was hurt and overwhelmed and…embarrassed.

He wasn’t Andraste’s Herald.  He’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time…and he’d picked up that _stupid_ orb…

What a story for the historians.

He felt like a liar.  Like a fraud.  Alexius had been right: he was a mistake.

All his optimism and hope and cheer was gone.  He didn’t deserve to be this famed Inquisitor. 

As he began to calm down, he felt the exhaustion catching up with him and let his heavy lids close, welcoming the enveloping blackness.

 

* * *

 

Dorian hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, it was just that the rotunda was more of an amphitheater and voices tended to carry.  Below, Cassandra was speaking to Solas.

“No one has seen him since last night.  Some said he ran towards the front gate, but there is no sign that he left,” she was saying.

“I have not seen him either, Seeker.  He has never been one to confide in me, you know.  I would suggest asking Dorian or Varric.  Perhaps even Sera,” Solas replied.  There was a shuffling of papers and Dorian knew he’d so _tactfully_ dismissed her.

Turning to his own research, Dorian thumbed absentmindedly through several pages, but found the words unenticing. 

He’d gone to Nicos’s quarters this morning to wake him, knowing he’d be upset at missing breakfast, but his bed was empty, as were his other favorite hiding spots around the fortress.

Dorian was confused.  Dorian did not _like_ being confused, and as he heard Cassandra come up behind him, he simply said, “I can’t help you.”

She paused, her hands resting on the ever-present sword at her hip.  “I was hoping you knew some…secret places he would go.  I do not expect you to tell me where—”

“I’ve already checked them.  He was at the front gate last night, but he didn’t leave.  He ran off back into the fort somewhere.”  His voice was even, surprising himself as he spoke.  In truth, he was worried sick.

“You’re certain?” she asked, searching for some hint of left-out information.

“Ah, no, my mistake.  Of course, he’s been in the garden all along, singing to the trees!”  He sighed in frustration.  “Seeker, if I knew where he was, do you think I’d be here?”

“Point taken,” she said through clenched teeth and spun to continue her search.

Dorian turned back to his book and continued to flip through pages without reading them.  Finally far too annoyed, he marched up to Nicos’s quarters, taking the stairs two at a time.  He was, of course, met with an empty room.  Sighing, he opened the large doors that led to one of the balconies.  From here, he had a near-perfect view of the entire fort below.  The garden was bustling with life, but there was no sign of Nicos…  As he continued to scan, he noticed a glint of light from one of the turrets below.  He squinted against the sunlight and saw a figure curled in the shadows.  He almost dismissed it until he saw the familiar green glow of the Anchor.  _Nicos._

 

* * *

 

He heard his name—all of his names and titles—being called around him but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  _Let them worry_ , he thought selfishly.

Suddenly there was a creaking of wood and clambering steps up the ladder to his current hideout.  He scooted further into the darkness of the corner, curling in on himself like a scared child and hid his face in his arms.  _If I can’t see them, they can’t see me_.  It wasn’t true, of course, but that didn’t stop him.

“You’re not very good at hide-and-seek, amatus,” Dorian’s voice came in hushed breaths at his side.

“Says you.  Took you all night to find me.”  He wasn’t in a joking mood, yet he found it almost impossible not to keep up the banter.

“I grant you that.  Still, curling up in a corner?  Seems like a last-ditch effort to me.”  Dorian moved to pry Nicos’s arms from around his knees, but he wouldn’t budge. 

He didn’t want him to see. 

Finally, Dorian gave up and rested his hand on his knee instead.  “I was worried, you know…” he whispered, as if the confession bared a part of his soul meant to be kept from the world.

Nicos swallowed hard.  “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Dorian sighed and Nicos heard him shifting to sit more comfortably.  “Please talk to me.  It doesn’t do you any good keeping it bottled up.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Nicos whimpered pathetically.  _If you move now, he’ll see what you did.  You’ll worry him more._   “Better bottled up than exploding,” he managed, though his voice was almost too quiet.

“This isn’t like you…and frankly you’re scaring me.  I don’t admit to being scared all that often, but since the Fade…you’ve been different.  Help me understand,” he pleaded.  His thumb rubbed soothingly against his knee, letting Nicos know he’d be there to listen, whenever he was ready.

“I’m sorry…” Nicos moaned, and slowly raised his head.  His eyes, puffy and red from crying, fixed on Dorian’s face and he watched as the man slowly took him in, watched his eyes widen in horror and fear and…heartbreak?

 _“Kaffas!_ What did you do?!”  He grabbed Nicos by the wrists and straightened his arms, pulling a little too roughly and Nicos grimaced in pain.  He watched as Dorian pulled up the sleeves of his once pure ivory top and revealed angry red scratches.  Most of the blood had dried, some of it was absorbed into his sleeves, painting them with splotches of pink, but a few of the deeper and more recent cuts were still weeping.

As Dorian’s eyes scanned up his arms, they eventually made their way to Nicos’s face and Nicos couldn’t bring himself to look away.  He forced himself to watch as his lover’s eyes filled with even more hurt as they focused on his scar on the side of his head, where he’d scratched and clawed at it.  Finally, it was as if a dam had broken and everything came pouring back to him; every bad feeling from the night before came flooding back and he sobbed loudly and openly, finally letting Dorian see his weakness.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he said, crumbling beneath the weight of…everything: the Inquisition, the mark, Adamant…Dorian’s look.  He hung his head in defeat as he felt Dorian roll his sleeves back down and he moved next to him, pulling him close and hushing him softly.  Nicos cried into the man’s chest until there was nothing left, until he was an empty shell staring blankly ahead as strong, soft hands held him tightly. 

“We should go inside,” Dorian suggested after a while.  “Get you cleaned up…”

Weakly, Nicos nodded and started to push himself up but the hands on him moved to his shoulders and held him down.  He shot a confused look, but as Dorian began wiping the remaining tears away and straightening his collar, he understood: keeping up appearances.  He took the man’s coat when it was handed to him, carefully slipping his arms into the sleeves so as not to aggravate the scratches and cuts.  Dorian ran his fingers through Nicos’s hair and tried to comb over the stubborn strands.  He gave a grunt that Nicos read as _“That’ll have to do_ ” and followed him down the ladder.  The walk back to his quarters was the longest walk of his life.

Everyone was staring, he was sure of it.  He’d tried to smile reassuringly at people as he passed, but he could tell they knew something was off.  Dorian had commented that he’d been drunk in celebration and gotten hopelessly lost before passing out.  That was going to be the official story, then.  Nicos would rather everyone thought that than the truth.

When they’d finally reached his room, all he wanted to do was drop into his bed and sink in amongst the innumerable pillows, but Dorian set to work right away.  He filled a small bowl with warm water and wet a rag while Nicos carefully undressed. 

At first, the warmth stung as the rag was pressed to the raw skin, but as Dorian continued to clean his arms, it was as if the pain was melting away.  Nicos watched him work, watched as the water slowly became tinted red as the memories of the previous night were washed away.  When he was done, Dorian wrapped his arms in light bandages, carefully placing gentle kisses on them when he was done.

Nicos let out a short huff of laughter.  “Kissing it better?”  He allowed himself to be pushed back into the pillows and watched as Dorian began to change his clothes.  Nicos had taken to keeping a spare set for him in a drawer of his wardrobe, in case the mage decided to spend the night.  He was glad at his forethought.

“A mage’s special touch.  Secret magic, of course,” he retorted as he climbed into the bed next to Nicos, tucking him safely under his arm.

“I’m sorry…” Nicos muttered.

“You’re allowed to hurt, amatus.  You’re allowed to feel upset, but please don’t think you have to keep it all bottled up.  Please don’t hurt yourself…” Dorian said in a low, soothing voice.  “I’m always here. “

Nicos swallowed the lump in his throat threatening to choke him again.  Emotions were hard and he really rather hated them.  “Thank you…” was all he could manage before feeling his voice threaten to break and he felt Dorian kiss the top of his head before his eyes drifted closed.


End file.
